


A Concept of Yesterday

by radishleaf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Banter, Demons, Desire, Flirting, Fluff, Gift Fic, Kissing, M/M, Seduction, late b-day gift to myself haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27063742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radishleaf/pseuds/radishleaf
Summary: In the midst of a conversation, Riven reminisces about what he could've been with Bren had revenge not played a factor.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	A Concept of Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> alternate summary: two fancy demon boys talk for a while and then kiss.
> 
> a late b-day gift to myself! not the one i intended to write, but i couldn't give this idea up. riven is def one of my more interesting ocs to write for since he's charming, but also a bit grey around the edges. bren is just a dumbo poopoo head in love with him, but also super fun to write for lol
> 
> please also note: i couldn't find a proper tag for it, but there's also some very, very light neck holding in this. it hopefully isn't enough to warrant a bdsm/powerplay tag (seriously, it's done in an intimate, but gentle fashion), but if such content is squicky to anyone, please be aware. 
> 
> as always, kindly disregard any grammatical errors, punctuation mistakes, and the like. i tried to be thorough. enjooooy.

Bren shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the ceiling-high window in the library, eyes tracing the long rivulets of rain streaming down the glass as he waited on Riven. It’d been a bit of a wait; at least a good twenty minutes had past since the demon had taken to the plush armchair set in the middle of the room to study all of the notes he’d gathered in the last week.

Despite trying to keep to his own, knowing he would be admonished by Riven if he traipsed over to glance over his work, Bren couldn’t help his brewing curiosity. It was like the times he was a boy, antsy as his au pair reviewed his homework; Bren just _had_ to know what he did wrong, at that very moment, so he might right them then and there. Unlike Riven, patience wasn’t his strong suit.

What weighed on him more than the waiting was the complete silence. Despite the distant drone of the rain, Bren swore he could hear the thump of the human heart in Riven’s breast. It was only the occasional crinkle of a page or swipe of a pen that kept Bren grounded; if he sought out something to keep him busy, surely Riven would admonish him then, as he was very particular during his work. Sound always served as a distraction, he’d say, thus silence was required.

Thankfully, Bren hadn’t a need to wait anymore, as Riven righted the small bundle of papers. The notion he had the other demon’s seal of approval was dashed aside, however, when Riven threw them upon the desk before him, saying, “No good.”

Bren’s face immediately fixed into a frown. “What do you mean “no good”?” he asked.

“Just as I said,” Riven returned. “It’s no good.”

“Then tell me _how_ to make it good. Suggest something.”

“There’s only one: It must be redone.”

Bren threw his hands up in frustration. “You _can’t_ be serious,” Bren huffed. “I tracked that pickle-faced bastard to days, Riven. _Days._ I could smell the sweat off his brow from a block away. I am not doing it again. Can you really not work with what I’ve given you?”

Riven pursed his lips, leafing through the papers again. “Well,” be began, “I amend your notetaking. It’s very thorough. However, I need to know everything about the minister, Bren. How he eats, how he shits, how he sleeps… I need to know how he functions as a person all on paper. Without such information, I can’t proceed.”

Bren clucked his tongue. “Why don’t I just drag the man in here and have him tell you himself?”

Riven glanced at him. “If you can manage such a feat, then by all means, go ahead. It’d make this easier.”

Bren rolled his eyes, clearing the distance between him and Riven to lean against the side of the armchair.

“It’s been over a month, Riven,” he said. “Don’t you tire of this? This… This penchant for revenge. It’s consumed you.”

“I’m aware it has. It mars my every waking hour, never giving me peace.”

“I admire your tenacity.”

“What tenacity? I’ve none.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Do you?” Riven’s glare was steely. “You’ve some nerve when you know nothing of my experience, my circumstances.”

Bren sighed. “Excuse me for trying to sympathize.”

“No one can.”

“So that’s what you use to justify your revenge? The single ember to keep the urge burning?”

Riven gave a nod. “Yes. Without it, all this would be for naught.”

Bren hummed. “And I’m but fuel for your fire?”

“Mm, yes, but you made that choice yourself—to burn with me.”

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, as they say.”

Riven smiled at him. “Exactly.”

Bren pursed his lips and glanced aside. It irked him beyond reason how that smile had captured him, inflaming a different fire in him that lead to his partnership with Riven. He was the other demon’s confidante, his conspiratorial collaborator, all in the name of usurping a king of a ruined land.

The same smile that muttered to him coyly, _Become my kingmaker. Deliver me upon that throne and I shall deliver upon you all that you desire._

Bren found himself in want of nothing until that very moment, when a large chest from an unknown sender was set upon the steps of the Weiss estate and a bare Riven was found inside, folded in like a stray piece of laundry. He never yearned for anything until Riven awoke to him, bleary but conscious, and begged for him not to leave despite being a stranger. He never desired for anything until Riven had regained his strength, and in a passing comment Bren couldn’t remember, Riven gave him a smile that made him want to kiss the life from him.

In a way, Bren felt gratitude toward the King of the Wastes—it was thanks to his insult, crumbling Riven’s dignity, and the resulting revenge that almost felt justified—that the two were brought together. He’d go as far as to invoke the words of angels calling it a blessing. Since then, Bren burned for him—and would continue to burn for him—to an end where they would both become ash.

“Don’t you… ever think about what could’ve been?” Bren suddenly asked, hesitant despite testing the weight of the question.

Riven quirked a brow. “What do you mean?”

“If revenge wasn’t your driving notion, don’t you ever think about how different you would be? How”—he reached forward and tapped a finger on the bundle of paper—“you wouldn’t have an overzealous desire to gather information. How everything wouldn’t have to be fine-tuned to your expectations. How you would, well, how you would know a peace of mind.”

Riven gave a bitter laugh. “The concept of a yesterday without revenge is a farfetched notion, Bren,” he said. “So distant, I can’t even imagine it.”

“Really? For a mind that has undoubtedly conjured a myriad of notions and possibilities, it can’t imagine one where you’re at peace?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… that’s troubling.”

Riven shrugged a shoulder. “Admittedly, I can’t think of a time when I was truly, utterly happy, so no, I agree. It is troubling.”

“Actually, I think _that’s_ most troubling of all. So, humor me. Tell me what a future like that is like.”

Riven chuckled. “Are you actually trying to invoke the power of angels?”

Bren frowned. “Eugh, _no_. I’m not _asking_ for a miracle, simply asking a _miracle question_. If you could rewind time and experience a yesterday where revenge wasn’t your aim, what would it be like?”

Riven clutched his chin between forefinger and thumb as his other hand drummed absently on the table, considering the question. Bren found himself waiting in bated expectation; even if he couldn’t give Riven the happiness he sought, he’d latch onto any notion of it—even if prompted by a rhetorical question.

After a beat, Riven suddenly shook his head, and said, “It’s still not a concept I can conceive of.”

Riven’s reply almost made Bren pout. He felt as if the other demon had marched over and toppled his tower of blocks, ruining the excitement of building up to something. Either Riven wasn’t taking him seriously or he genuinely didn’t have a concept in his head; Bren couldn’t discern which it was.

“Then tell me your reason,” Bren said, failing to keep the slight edge of desperation down in his tone.

Riven studied him before saying, “Simply put, a yesterday where I haven’t met you isn’t worth considering.”

Bren gave pause. “Come again?”

Riven sighed, steepling his fingers. “Let me be clearer: Circumstances aside, Bren, you’re too important to me to think—let alone, _want_ —a yesterday that you’re asking of. I’d go as far as to say it’s _cruel_ you even brought it up.”

Shame solidified in Bren’s throat, making it hard to swallow. He gulped down the feeling to force out a small, “Oh,” before falling quiet.

Riven might’ve only been making conversation, but such an admittance struck something in Bren. It was neither a confession nor a whisper of sweet nothings, but it charmed him all the same; the closest to something _fond_ out of the other demon’s mouth since their partnership. Despite how much he toiled for him, despite how he put his reservations aside to further Riven’s interests, such words made it feel worth it. Akin to throwing a starved dog a bone.

Absentmindedly, Bren’s hand reached out to Riven, catching his forearm. The other demon stilled to the light hold, glancing at it, before golden eyes drifted up to meet Bren’s. That lump hardened in Bren’s throat again; it was a look he’d come to know quite intimately, for even if their partnership lacked in affection, it made up for it in another meaningful way.

So distracted was Bren by the slope of Riven’s long lashes, long enough he swore they almost brushed his cheeks, Bren almost missed him saying, “I wasn’t aware a simple chat could mean so much to you.”

“Such is the power of words,” Bren returned, voice dropping an octave. “Especially yours upon me.”

Bren’s fingers trailed up the length of Riven’s arm, skirting from shoulder to chest, before tracing the edge of the soft fabric of his shirt’s collar. Riven had left a single button popped open from the neck, and the revealed expanse of skin from chest to throat—grey as the wastes he hailed from—made Bren swallow hard.

_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,_ he thought distantly.

When Bren’s fingertips brushed the skin pulled taut over Riven’s collarbone, thin as paper, the flinch it elicited almost made him haul Riven from the armchair and to the nearest bed. Angels above, he was even tempted to take him on the desk then and there. He held the urge back through strength alone, satiating it through touch as his hand traced upward until it met Riven’s throat.

Gently, oh so gently, Bren’s fingers curved under the dip where chin met neck and guided Riven’s head up, bringing the side of his face flush to the armchair. The look Riven immediately shot him sent a thrill up Bren’s spine; there was amusement in his half-lidded gaze, a sleepy playfulness, like the buzz of a few spirits had finally hit. It beckoned Bren forth a step until he almost felt inclined to clamber over the armchair and onto the other demon.

Riven snapped him to his senses, breaking the lingering silence with, “To think my words could compel you to threaten my life, well, that’s a new one.”

Bren blinked, before chagrining, realizing his hold upon Riven’s throat was uncharacteristically firm. He could feel the thrum of the human heart he’d stolen from that woman beneath his fingertips, throbbing steadily along without a hint of fear. Not that it would beat wildly to any imminent danger—it still possessed the machinations of its master, blissfully unaware of the tension in the air.

Loosening his hold, Bren said, “Even you know the last thing I’d ever wish upon you is death.”

“Mm, pity,” Riven returned, a coy smiling hooking the corners of his lips up. “Because it’d be wonderful.”

Bren furrowed his brow, sliding his hand up to gently thumb Riven’s bottom lip. “Don’t joke like that, Riven,” he admonished.

“Oh, but I mean it.” Riven’s smile widened. “If you were to choke me with all of the strength in your arm, cut off all air, I wouldn’t mind it in the least.”

“R-Riven…”

His eyes glittered mischievously. “To die by your hand would be an honor.”

Bren’s breath caught, but he relented, and tightened his grip again. Less with the intention to hurt, but more to make a point.

“Then don’t give me a reason to,” Bren huffed. “Recall that even if we’re… intimate… danger still lurks in this partnership I have with you. If you should ever betray me, I wouldn’t hesitate to deliver upon you what you so wish.”

Riven’s smile widened. “Even if it’s the last thing you’d ever do?”

“Should my survival be questioned, it wouldn’t be a choice—it would be a necessity.”

“Good,” Riven said, nodding. “Good, good. I commend you for your wisdom, and myself for having chosen such a wise partner. You should know to put yourself first, always. But enough talk…”

A grey hand curved about Bren’s wrist, steadying in place, as Riven dipped his lips to Bren’s thumb. He pressed them to the swell of it before trailing them down, pressing another to his palm.

“Instead of idle promises, why don’t you take my breath in another way?” Riven offered teasingly. “In the way you know best.”

That invitation broke the floodgates, surging Bren forward. Immediately, he bent over the arm of the chair and kissed Riven with restless abandon. Suddenly, the world felt like it tipped backward, righting itself on its proper axis. Bren knew his everything revolved around Riven, but when he could finally connect to him, it was as if the equilibrium of life itself had taken on a new meaning, conjured new purpose.

Bren drank in the satisfied note that rippled out of the other demon when he deepened the kiss. He felt inclined to pull the breath from him as he’d offered, maybe even that damnable heart from his chest to spit upon the library floor, but all his results produced were a panting Riven in his hand.

“Well,” Riven managed, breathless, when Bren pulled away. “I didn’t—mmn—I didn’t think you’d take me _literally_ , Bren.”

“What did I say of the power your words on me?” Bren replied as he suddenly wrenched Riven to his feet. “They compel things.”

“But to think you’d be ensorcelled by them, to even dash your sensibilities asunder,” Riven said, wiping lips on the back of his hand as he stumbled after Bren. It was obvious where they were headed—his quarters—to follow-up on where this little seduction led. “It’s a concept to behold.”


End file.
